“I don’t think he was running anywhere, since I am sure he stole the ledger with Harding’s blackmailing information in it. He intended to pick up where Harding left off.”
Mrs. Whitney shrugged. “No matter. If I was in jail for murder, they could stay right here in Bath, enjoying my money.” Once again she took dead aim at Patrick’s heart.
Her stepson blanched. “Carol, sweetheart, please put the gun away. You might hurt someone.” Patrick moved slowly toward her as he spoke.
“Stop!” She narrowed her eyes, her hand steady on the trigger of the gun. “When his lordship here didn’t return right away to give me the information on your whereabouts, I decided to act on my suspicions. It only took me one day of spying to find you. Right here—with her!”
Patrick held his arms out. Pleading. “I was feeling ill and needed a place to recover.”
While Mrs. Whitney and Patrick conversed, Amy edged toward William. He took her hand, and they stood together. He gently eased her behind him. Between them and the exit stood a crazy woman waving a gun. He could feel Amy shaking, her hands ice-cold. He had no idea how she had ended up here, but if they got out of this alive, he would throttle her for not doing exactly what he had told her to do—not leave the house by herself.
And then kiss her senseless.
“Don’t think you can fool me again, Patrick.” Mrs. Whitney moaned. “I thought you loved me.”
“I do.” Patrick ran his tongue over his lips, flexing his hands and taking deep breaths, his eyes riveted on the gun.
“No. You don’t. Once you got your hands on my money, you would be done with me.”
He shook his head. “No. That’s not true.”
In a matter of seconds, Patrick had leaped toward Mrs. Whitney, and a shot rang out. His hands grasped his chest, and he looked down at the blood running through his fingers. “You shot me.” His eyes closed and he fell to his knees, then forward, facedown.
“Patrick!” The gun slid from Mrs. Whitney’s hand, and she raced toward him. William picked it up with two fingers and turned to Amy. “Get the bloody hell out of here. Now.”
“Take it easy, your lordship.” Detectives Carson and Marsh walked into the room, both of them holding pistols. “We have it all under control.”
William closed his eyes in relief and pulled Amy toward him. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. “Are you all right, sweeting?”
She leaned back and looked him in the eye. “Persephone is having puppies.”
CHAPTER 32
Amy gazed down and once again marveled at the tiny puppies nestling close to Persephone. Four little bodies snuggled up to their mum. Seeing her beloved dog act like a mama brought tears to Amy’s eyes.
And a sense of longing to her breast. Perhaps she wasn’t quite so adamant about never marrying. She could have a child or two. And, married to the right man, she could still do her writing.
The right man? Hadn’t he already presented himself?
It had been almost a week since Patrick Whitney had admitted to killing Mr. Harding and Mrs. Whitney had shocked them all by stating that she’d killed Mrs. Johnson. As well as her husband, whom she’d said she had poisoned with arsenic.
The last Amy had heard, Patrick Whitney was recovering in hospital, under arrest, and Mrs. Whitney was behind bars. The best part, of course, was that William was freed of all charges. Since the detectives had released his files to him, he had spent most of his time working with his barrister, solicitor, and man of business to get his finances straightened out.
She’d seen very little of him.
On the way back from the Johnson home the day the killers were arrested, she’d told William that Mrs. Burrows had admitted that she and Miss Gertrude had been kidnapped and sold to a brothel in London many years before. When the place burned down, they’d both escaped and moved to Bath, where Miss Penelope was already living, distraught at her sister’s disappearance but unable to get the police to listen to her.
Mrs. Burrows had found a good man to marry, and the two women had decided to go their separate ways, putting the horrible experience behind them.
Until Harding had uncovered their disgrace and used it for nefarious purposes.
After much consideration and musing, Amy and William had decided that since Mrs. Johnson had worked at the King’s Garden, where Harding met with his victims, she must have been the one to tell Patrick about the journal, which then began his search for it, first by breaking into Harding’s home and then by entering Amy’s and William’s houses. Although in those two cases, he had most likely used his acting abilities to gain access to their homes.
But tonight was Lady Wethington’s dinner party. With all the goings-on, she’d had to postpone it for a week. Amy was looking forward to the event—if for no other reason than to get the sense of a normal life returning to her. She was happy to be free of investigations. The only way she planned to consider suspects and killers in the future was in writing her next book.
“Are you ready?” Aunt Margaret entered Amy’s bedchamber after a slight knock.
“Yes, almost.” Amy still gazed down at the puppies.
“My goodness, every time I come into this room, you are fussing with those puppies.” Aunt Margaret bent over the box. “They are cute little things, aren’t they?”
“Mm-hmm.” Amy kept running her finger over their soft fur.
“I think
